Lay Your Weary Head to Rest
by AnchorRed
Summary: Sam and Dean quit the family business. This is Sam and Dean's last hunt. (Or, How their story should end when season 15 ends.)


**Warnings**: major character death, blood, minor language  
**Summary**: Sam and Dean quit the family business. This is Sam and Dean's last hunt. (Or, How their story should end when season 15 ends.)  
**Disclaimer**: Supernatural and its characters don't belong to me. Just writing for fun.  
**Note**: **1)** When they announced that the show ends with season 15, I tried to imagine how they could wrap it all up. This is what my mind came up with.  
**2)** This story contains death. Don't read it if that bothers you, but I promise it ends well.  
** 3)** Title inspired by "Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas.  
**4)** I wrote this before 14x19 aired. Just sayin'.

* * *

"Find anything?" Dean slammed his book closed and rubbed his temples. He glanced over at Sam who sat across from him in the bunker's library.

"No," Sam sighed deeply. "Still nothing. It's been nearly two weeks and we still have no idea what's out there, steadily wiping out half of that town. We can't keep sitting here doing nothing. We've—"

"Hey, we're not doing nothing. We're doing research. Your favorite," Dean said with a smile. "Besides, I'm sure Cas has found something by now."

Just then, there was a loud, metallic clanging as the bunker door was opened and shut. Both brothers turned and watched Castiel walk slowly and somberly down the stairs before meeting them in the library.

"Speak of the devil. Here he is now," Dean said, giving Cas a pat on the shoulder. Cas looked at Dean, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"But, I'm not—"

"Never mind, Cas. What do you have for us? You figure it out?" Dean asked.

"Sadly, I have not. Whatever this creature is, it continues to elude me. I can't find any lore on it, and my contacts were no help, either. I'm afraid we still have no idea what's killing all those people."

"That's it," Sam said, closing his laptop lid with a sense of finality. "We need to head out. Let's go there and track it down. Maybe if we get a good look at it we can figure it out." He stood up and began putting his jacket on.

"Let's not be too hasty, Sam," Cas stated, holding out a palm in a placating manner.

"No, he's right," Dean said, also getting to his feet. "While we sit here trying to figure this out, more people are dying. Let's go find this ugly son of a bitch and see what kind of clues we can pick up about it. Then we'll have more to go on to figure out what it is and how to send its sorry ass to purgatory."

"Coming?" Sam asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"'Course," Cas answered. "I've got a couple more leads to follow up on and then I'll meet you two there. Is it alright if I take Jack with me? He could be of some help."

"Sure thing. We'll meet you guys in a couple of days, then. Keep in touch," Dean said.

Sam and Dean gave Cas a pat on the shoulder as they passed by him to grab some things and then head out on their way.

The trip was long, but neither Winchester minded. Music turned up, they sailed down the open road, taking it all in. Sitting side by side in the Impala was where they belonged. The bunker may be where they lived, but Baby would always be their home.

They finally reached the small town some time later, or at least, they reached what was left of it. The majority of its residents had either turned up dead, missing, or fled in fear of being the next victim to whatever was plaguing them. The few townspeople who remained watched warily as a shiny black car roared through their streets. People had stopped coming to their town weeks ago, so they weren't sure what to make of these new strangers.

After checking into a hotel, the Winchesters began their search. Most people wouldn't talk, but they were able to gather a little bit here and there. The deaths had been spread out over the last two weeks, the bodies showing brutal abuse before their deaths. It wasn't clear what was causing the damage. There were no missing organs, bite marks, or any other telltale signs of what creature could be the culprit. In fact, there weren't many similarities other than being littered with wounds. They were stumped.

The boys were just getting into the Impala when Dean's phone rang. Dean slammed his door closed before fishing it out of his pocket.

"Yeah?" he said gruffly, jamming the keys into the ignition with his free hand.

_"Jack and I are almost there. We shouldn't be long," _Castiel said over the line.

"Good. That's good. Did you guys find anything?"

_"I'm afraid not. I have a feeling that this may be something ancient. We must be very careful,"_ Cas answered.

"Hm. Probably. Wouldn't be the first time." Dean paused for a second, thinking. "Well, anyway, me and Sam are about to head over to check out an old, abandoned house on the edge of town. There hasn't been any pattern where the bodies have been found, but there are rumors of strange things happening down in that area. Thought we'd give it a look, see if there's any trace of a creature squatting or something, " he explained.

_"I don't advise that, Dean. You two need to wait for Jack and me to get there. Don't go alone. You guys need back up."_

"I've got Sam's back and he's got mine. Relax, Cas. We probably won't find anything, anyway. Just thought we'd give it a look before heading back to the hotel for the night. Not a big deal," Dean said casually.

_"When is it ever 'not a big deal', Dean? It's never simple. Just give us about a half hour. Or we could get some rest and go in the morning," _Cas nearly pleaded.

"Nah, we're already close by. Our hotel is across town. We'll check it out and then meet you guys at the hotel," Dean said, then added, "And while you're at it, pick up some grub along your way. There was a diner a few miles back. Grab some burgers. And pie. Don't forget the pie," Dean said with a small smile, tuning the keys and starting the engine.

Castiel sighed over the line. _"Okay. Just be careful. Both of you."_

"Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit." Dean hung up and set the phone beside him on the seat. He glanced over at Sam before backing out of his parking space and pulling onto the road. "Cas and Jack will be here soon."

"Good. Maybe we can compare notes and figure this out," he said, gazing out the window. The sun was going down. It would be dark soon.

A few minutes later, the boys pulled up to an old, rundown house. No one had lived there in over a decade. The large, two story was covered in vines and ivy all along its walls and the porch was caving in on itself in places. There didn't appear to be a single window still fully intact.

Dean shut off the engine and the two Winchesters got out of the car, slamming closed the doors with their signature squeak. They rifled through the trunk, grabbing anything that they thought would be useful in case they came across some unknown threat. With a flashlight in one hand and a knife in the other, Sam led the way into the decrepit home.

The old wooden floorboards groaned with the job of holding the boys' weight. Dust and dirt gave the floor a gritty feel as two sets of boots littered it with imprints of the bottom of their shoes.

They searched thoroughly, looking in closets and behind furniture, trying to find anything to help them figure out what had been killing people these last few weeks. After an extensive search of the first floor turned up nothing more than rat droppings and dust bunnies, they made their way carefully up the rickety steps to the second floor.

They explored the rooms meticulously, double checking each room before moving on to the next. Sam approached the last room down the hall while Dean checked out the room next door. The door was closed, so Sam reached out a cautious hand and slowly turned the knob before giving the door a light shove.

Dust swirled in the wake of the opening door and Sam held an elbow over his mouth and nose to block it from reaching his sinuses. Even so, his eyes began to water and he internally groaned at the thought of getting hay fever from this.

He took a step into the room and stopped. Something didn't feel right. He didn't know what. There was nothing to see or hear to suggest that anything was off, but his instincts were telling him to turn back around and get out. They were rarely wrong, but he knew he couldn't do that. If he felt like he should leave, then he was in the right place. This must be what they were looking for.

He used his flashlight to do a quick sweep of the room but didn't see anyth…wait. What was that? Sam took a few steps into the room and swept the flashlight again. Yes, there it was. The light seemed to bend around the far corner of the room, like it couldn't touch that area. Something was going on. Something was there, but he just couldn't see it.

A whole list of possibilities was rushing through Sam's mind too quick to keep up. He thought he might have a vague idea of what this could be, even though that would be impossible. He had only seen it mentioned a few times in the lore, but each entry was barely a mention. From what he could gather, it killed in order to feed off of life energy to sustain itself. Not souls, fortunately (he'd had enough soullessness to last a lifetime). It would mean that this thing was older than Chuck himself. If he was right, then they were in deep trouble.

"Dean?" he called out not too loudly. He didn't want the creature to react to his presence, but he couldn't not warn Dean. This was serious.

He took a few steps closer to try to see better, to try to reaffirm his suspicions, but in that same instant, a light exploded where the creature was. There was a bright glow emanating from it, but its form was too indistinct to make out. It seemed to undulate like that of a jellyfish, but without such a tangible body. It was large, nearly reaching the ceiling and occupying around a four-foot radius from the corner of the room. It was also mostly translucent, like it was made of pure energy, but again, it was hard to really tell much about its appearance other than it was bright and it was undeniably beautiful yet terrifying all at the same time.

He wasn't sure if calling out had startled it or if it had intended on preying on them the moment they entered the house, but at that moment, it didn't matter. In an instant, several things happened at once: Dean called Sam's name as he neared the bedroom door at the same time Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean to stay away. In that same moment, the creature glowed impossibly brighter for a fraction of a second as it released a toxic energy that visibly pulsed outward. There was a crack like thunder and then all was still once again. The silence was deafening after the loud boom and the brightness dimmed to resume its ethereal glow.

The first thing Dean noticed afterward was that he was lying on the ground and any attempt he made to get up resulted in terrible pain. One look at his hip and leg, though, showed that even if he did get up, he wasn't going anywhere. Whatever that blast was had knocked him into the wall with terrible force, causing pain all along the right side of his body. His head also hurt and he could feel the blood flowing down the side of his face.

The next thing he was aware of was the half a dozen or so dead rats lying scattered around him. They hadn't been there before, so they must have been tossed as he had been, but also perished in that blast. Dean's mind was sluggish to realize that if that had happened to the rodents, then what had happened to Sam who was closer than he was to whatever the hell that blast was?

Scared, Dean began to half-crawl, half-drag his battered body over to his little brother.

"Sam!" No response. "Sammy! Answer me, damn it!" he yelled through his fear. He had to be alright. He just had to. Dean didn't stop to think about the danger he might be putting himself in by going closer to the source of the blast. He didn't care. He just needed to be near Sam.

Dean ignored the sense of dread he felt as he crossed the threshold into the room. He ignored how debris and furniture looked unaffected by the force that had shoved him hard enough into the wall to put a hole in the plaster, how the force only seemed to affect living creatures and not the furniture or other objects. All Dean could see, all that consumed him, was the sight of Sam lying on his back so still, so _unmoving_ on the hardwood floor. Cold unease flowed through him, his chest tightened, and his stomach was in knots. It was like Cold Oak all over again.

Dean army crawled the last few feet and stopped beside his brother. His heart clenched when he finally got a good look at him. Sam had cuts and gashes along his hairline, his face, even along his chest, visible through the rips in his clothing. Blood poured from them, his flannel already becoming saturated. His chest looked uneven, undoubtedly due to broken ribs, and Dean noticed then how labored Sam's breathing was. He was barely getting any air in or out. It was little more than a wheeze as his chest rattled with the effort. Dean felt tears prick in his eyes from the sight. He knew this was bad. Worse than bad.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached his free hand over to his little brother and gently stroked his face, removing some blood soaked strands of hair from his eyes.

"Sammy," he said softly, giving his cheek a light pat. "Sammy, I'm here. Big brother's here. Open your eyes, man. It's okay." Dean felt like a jackass for saying that. Sam wasn't okay. This situation wasn't okay. Nothing about this was even remotely okay at all. He just couldn't bring himself to say anything to the contrary. Sam needed him now more than ever.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, then finally opened half-mast. His pupils weren't quite the same size and his eyes didn't seem to fully focus, but they were open, so Dean would consider that a win.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said with a smile. Sam's eyes sluggishly looked around before settling on Dean. Dean could tell that he was trying to focus and keep his eyes open. There were times when his eyes looked like they were going to roll up, but Sam stubbornly clung to consciousness and tried so hard to keep his gaze toward Dean.

"It's okay, Sam. We'll figure this out. Everything's okay." Dean had no idea what to do or what to say. He just kept talking because he knew Sam needed it.

Sam opened his mouth and Dean thought he was going to speak, but a cough tore through Sam instead. It was a deep, hacking cough that rasped itself out of his chest. Blood bubbled up his throat and spilled out the side of his mouth and chin, making it even harder for him to breathe. Dean seriously worried he'd choke on it.

Carefully, Dean tilted Sam slightly on his side and pounded his back. The coughs continued, but he wasn't gagging on blood anymore. Each cough took a toll on Sam and with each one, Dean worried he wouldn't take another breath. When there was a small puddle of blood on the floor, Sam was finally done, so he laid him gently back down, only then noticing the blood pooling on the floor around his other injuries, injuries he hadn't even triaged yet. He sighed wearily. Even without looking, he knew he couldn't fix this. He felt it in his bones. His gut churned with the thought.

"There you go, Sam. That's right. Just breathe, okay?"

Sam's tired eyes found Dean again, his face paler than any ghost they'd ever come across in their hunts. He opened his mouth again, but this time, he spoke.

"D-dean," he said, barely a whisper, barely a breath at all and would have been missed had it not been for the rapt attention his brother gave him.

"I'm here, Sam, I'm here," he said desperately, taking Sam's hand and holding it in his own. Sam was too weak to grip it back, but he could tell he appreciated it.

"'m s-sorry," Sam continued. Dean had to read his lips to fully understand. Air was barely passing through his lungs anymore.

When Dean realized what he said, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Leave it to Sam to feel guilty about dying, to always finding some way of blaming himself for something completely out of his control. If this was anyone's fault, it was his own for not listening to Cas and waiting until morning, but that was irrelevant now. This was happening and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Tears began flowing freely down his cheeks.

"No, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm your big brother. This should never have happened. I should've protected you. I should've—" he cut himself off as a sob wracked through him.

"Dean," he whispered. He let out a couple more coughs. More blood. His next breath rattled and rasped into his abused lungs. Dean knew he was fighting to pull that air in with everything he had left. Sam's face scrunched with the effort, and Dean could see the pain written along each one of those lines etched there. He hated seeing Sam suffer like this.

"Dean…love," a pause as Sam tried for another breath, "…you," he finished, reaching out his hand not clasped in Dean's to reach out and touch Dean's chest. Dean suspected that he wanted to clutch his shirt in his fist, but lacked the strength to do so. He held his hand there for a second before letting it fall.

"Sammy," he sobbed. "Sammy, I love you. So much, man," he said through his tears. Dean swore he saw a faint smile on Sam's lips just before his eyes slipped closed. "Sammy?"

The only response he got was a single breath rattling from Sam's bloodied chest. Dean paused and waited. Waited. Nothing. Sam didn't take another breath in. Dean shook Sam, gently at first and then harder when he got no response. Sam's hand was cold in his own.

Dean pulled Sam close to him and cradled his lifeless body to his chest. He kept mumbling "no" and that he loved him. He told him he was sorry for all the times he yelled at him and didn't trust him, for not being a better big brother. He hoped that somewhere, Sam heard him. He regretted not saying it all earlier, when he had the chance.

When the tears ran dry, he carefully, gently, laid Sam back on the floor. For the first time, he took a look around the room. Something here killed his brother and he wasn't about to let it go unpunished. Putting thoughts of his own safety aside, he turned to the still-glowing presence in the corner of the room, which, until now, he hadn't even noticed.

"Hey, you bastard!" he said from his seated position on the floor, still unable to get to his feet. "Why don't you come fight me like a man!" He reached for his gun and got a shot off before there was a deafening roar and he was pushed back by a wave of energy, a repeat of what had happened before.

When it passed, he felt unimaginable pain, but he didn't care. It barely registered to the pain he already felt squeezing his heart. He used what little strength he had left to scoot his body closer to Sam. He reached out and held his hand once again. He could taste a metallic tang with every strangled breath he took, but it only made him smile.

He looked over at Sammy as his vision dimmed. "I'm coming, Sam," he whispered, and let his eyes slip closed.

* * *

Sam found himself in a white space. There was no floor, ceiling, or walls. There wasn't anything but whiteness all around. He was confused. Where was he? Was he dead? Wait…yeah, he thought he probably was. He shuddered as he thought of his last few moments. If he was dead then this had to be, what, the Empty? But he'd always assumed that the Empty would be darkness, like an absence of all things, but this place was bright. Still, there was nothing, but it didn't seem _empty_.

Sam felt a presence before it materialized in front of him. Chuck stood there, smiling.

"Hello, Sam. We meet again," he said, his eyes bright and cheery.

"Chuck? What are you doing here…I mean, where are we?" Sam said in confusion, giving the place another once over.

Chuck held up his hands in a calming gesture. "All your questions will be answered shortly. We're just waiting on one more arrival. Shouldn't be long," he explained, glancing at his wrist, at a watch that wasn't there.

"One more arrival? Arrival to where? Death?" he paused. "Is it Dean? Is he going to die, too?" he questioned, stressed. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. As much as he didn't want to be without his brother, he didn't want his life to end, too. But, really, would Dean really want to live alone, without him? Sam knew he wouldn't want to live without Dean. He sighed.

"Relax, Sam. Everything's fine." Chuck continued to smile in such a way that appeared so genuinely happy that Sam couldn't help but feel a bit calmer just by looking at him.

Just then, the air beside Sam began to shimmer, and a second later, Dean stood there, looking just as confused as Sam felt.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his brother and squeezing him tightly.

"Sam," Dean said softly. "Is that really you?" he questioned, gripping onto his brother as well.

"Yeah, man, it's me."

Dean felt lighter than he'd felt in a long time, like a weight had been lifted off of him. Sammy was okay. He was right here with him. He hadn't lost him, after all. Dean felt tears begin pooling in his eyes and he wiped them away as they began to fall. He wasn't embarrassed, though, because Sammy was back.

Chuck cleared his throat. "I hate to be rude and interrupt this family reunion, but I've got other things to do. If we could just wrap this up, that would be great," he said, the smile still firmly on his face.

Dean pulled away from Sam and noticed Chuck for the first time. He wiped away the last of his tears.

"Chuck?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," he said, not quite annoyed. "Anyway, you two bought the farm, _again_, and it's time to move on."

"Wait, no," Dean said. "We've gone back before. Just send us back. I know you of all people can do that. There's a creature out there that needs to be put down. We'll figure out how, just put us back. Besides, Cas and Jack—"

"—Will be fine," Chuck finished for him. "That creature is not your responsibility. They'll work it out. From this point on, guys…nothing is your responsibility."

"Wha…what do you mean?" Sam asked.

Chuck sighed. "Look, I know you Winchesters aren't used to the idea of _staying_ dead, but you do realize that it's going to have to happen sometime, right?" he asked, looked at each brother, who nodded. "Well, _this_ is your time. Those other deaths…you two still had business to do. The world still needed the legendary Winchesters. Now it's time for you two to be at peace. The world will go on without you. It will be okay now.

"You two are heroes. You've saved the world repeatedly. You've sacrificed so much. As hard as it may seem, your time is over. The world will adapt. You two deserve more, but I think I've got a pretty good heaven set up for you guys," he explained, getting excited.

"Wait, just like that, and we're done? Just…_done_?" Dean questioned.

"Yes, Dean. Just like that," he said with the snap of his fingers.

"We've made it to heaven?" Sam asked incredulously. "But Billie said—"

"Forget what she said, Sam. I'm in charge. I make the rules and I would never let you two spend eternity in the Empty," he shuddered. "Besides, you guys fixed my relationship with Amara. I owe you guys."

"What about Cas? He can't end up there. He's family," Dean stated.

Chuck sighed again. "I know. I figured that'd come up. I'll pull some strings. Don't worry about it." He put his smile back in place. "Now, are you guys ready to come with me or do you want to continue admiring the scenery?"

Sam and Dean looked around again, seeing nothing but whiteness all around. They nodded. Chuck nodded in return, and then the three of them were gone.

* * *

Castiel could feel dread and despair in the pit of his stomach. He didn't feel that way often, but when he did, he knew something was terribly wrong. He'd never felt it this strongly before. He was extremely worried for his friends.

Jack could pick up on Cas's worry, but Cas refused to say anything when Jack questioned him on it. Cas just pushed harder on the pedal and flew down the highway, no regard to anything but getting there as soon as he could.

When they pulled into town, Cas didn't have to ask anyone where the strangers in the black car had gone. He could feel their presence and he followed his instincts to an old house on the edge of town.

Sure enough, there was the Impala sitting there in the driveway. He pulled up alongside it and quickly shut off the engine. Throwing open his door, he raced out of the car, not bothering to close it or to wait for Jack to follow. He raced up the porch steps and into the house, calling out to Sam and Dean as he went.

Jack followed closely. He felt something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He knew Cas knew, too, but he would talk about it. He felt confused and worried. It wasn't a combination of feelings that he liked very much.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the angel and the Nephilim quickly reached the second floor. Cas didn't bother searching each room. He could feel a presence in the last room down the hall. That's where they needed to go.

Reaching the door, he froze, Jack nearly plowing into him.

"No. No no no!" Cas said in anguish, rushing to the brothers' side.

Cas reached out to check their pulse, but knew from their cold skin that he wouldn't find any. He could clearly see that Sam went first by the way Dean cradled his hand in his own. Tears burned in his eyes. He was too late. He wasn't there for them when they needed him most.

He reached out his hands again, placing an index finger on each of their foreheads, hoping beyond hope he could fix them, heal them, bring them back to him. His fingers wouldn't even glow. Nothing happened. They were gone. If only he'd been a few minutes quicker and reached them before they passed he could have saved them, or at least eased their pain in their passing. It was obvious that they had died very painful deaths and it tore his heart to know that.

Jack, who lingered just outside the door, was afraid to enter. He knew something was wrong, that something major had happened, but a part of him wanted to remain unaware to the events to save himself the stress, while the rest of him needed to know what had happened.

Deciding that it was inevitable, he stepped inside.

Jack's world spun. He felt dizzy with surprise, shock, unimaginable sadness, and unquenchable rage. Lying there were two of the three people who meant the most to him. They were two of the few people in his short life that he had learned to trust. They were people that he loved.

"NO!" he screamed, the single word tore through his throat in a bellow that physically shook the room.

"Jack—" Cas, distraught, tried to calm him.

"NOOO" he shouted again.

The creature in the room, which had remained invisible up to this point, chose this moment to expose itself, giving the room an eerie glow.

Jack's eyes lit up yellow in response, seeing this creature as a target. He squared his shoulders and curled his hands into fists. Anger coursed through his veins.

"Jack! Stay away from it! We don't know—" Cas tried, but was cut off.

"YOU STOLE THEM FROM ME. YOU KILLED MY _FAMILY_!" he raged, shaking with the emotion.

The creature, this monster, glowed just a little brighter. Jack closed his eyes, feeling the power surging through him and harnessed it, focusing it to his will. His eyes opened and his fists glowed with power. Taking a deep breath, he released it all toward the beast. When it made contact, the creature exploded, blasting raw energy outward. The whole house shook from the impact.

When things settled down, Cas lifted his head. A split second before the blast, he had wrapped his wings around himself and the Winchesters, knowing that Jack was unstable and there was no telling what would happen, especially with such an ancient creature.

Surveying the room, he saw that the creature was gone. There was no trace of it left and he had no doubts that it was really and truly dead. Next, though, he saw Jack. His heart plummeted for a second time that day.

Jack lay on the floorboards, looking not much better off than the Winchesters' bodies.

"Jack!" He ran to his side, cradling his head on his arm and pulling him close. "Jack, open your eyes," he said, giving his cheek a pat.

Jack complied, and looked up at Castiel's face hovering over his own.

"Did I kill it?" he asked in a soft voice. He gave a small cough, which left his teeth coated red.

"Yes, Jack. You killed it."

Jack nodded. "Good." Another cough. "Couldn't let it get away," he paused to breathe, "with taking them," a couple breaths, "or let it hurt you," he finished with a few more coughs.

Castiel smiled at him. "Of course not." He lifted his free hand. "Now let me heal you."

"No, Cas," he said weakly. "I should go."

"What? Why, Jack? They may be gone, but I'm still here. We have each other."

Jack shook his head. "I feel it. My time. Besides," he paused, pulling in another painful breath, "my mom's waiting."

"No, Jack. She'd want you to live."

Cas reached his hand out again and touched it to Jack's forehead. This time, his fingers glowed, but nothing happened. He frowned, sensing that Jack was blocking it with his own power. He dropped his hand.

"Jack, please. You can't do this."

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said with another cough.

"Jack…you can't. You can't leave me. Don't leave me all alone, Jack. I beg you," he pleaded, tears burning his eyes.

Jack reached a hand out and placed it on Cas's forearm. "It's okay. I'm done, but you…still have…work to do…before you go. You'll be okay," he said between breaths.

Tears streamed down Cas's cheeks. "Then let me help you," he said as he sobbed.

He placed his hand to Jack's forehead once again, and this time Jack didn't stop him. He allowed Cas to take away the pain. Cas could see Jack's face ease away from the discomfort, his body relaxing as he held him close.

"Thanks, Cas…for everything," he said and his eyes fell closed. Cas felt his body still and go limp.

Cas wasn't sure how long he sat there cradling Jack and being surrounded by the only people he'd ever really learned to love throughout all his countless years. Just a couple decades ago, he wouldn't have been able to describe what love felt like. Not really. But now, not only could he describe love, but he could also explain happiness, a sense of belonging, and of heart-wrenching sadness. He questioned whether it was worth it all, just to feel how he felt now. Maybe it would have been better to never have met them.

He dismissed those thoughts. To have never met the Winchesters or Jack would have meant never having a purpose, never having a family. He couldn't imagine giving all that up, even if it meant experiencing the torture he now felt.

He knew he'd eventually give the three of them a proper hunter's funeral, but for now, he allowed himself the time to grieve.

* * *

It had been 172 years, three months, two weeks, and two days since he'd watched Sam Winchester type away on his laptop while researching their latest case.

It had been 172 years, two months, three weeks, and four days since he'd watched Dean Winchester scarf down a double bacon cheeseburger.

It had been 172 years, four months, one week, and five days since Jack Kline bombarded him with random questions, the kid always being curious about the big wide world that he didn't have the chance to fully explore.

It had been 172 years, five months, two weeks, and six days since they'd sat around eating pizza and binging Netflix in the bunker.

It had been 172 years, one month, three weeks, and four days since Castiel lost it all.

In most of his innumerable years, Cas had been alone. He'd done his duties without thought, without question to anything else. It wasn't until he had others in his life, people to fill the void he didn't know existed, that he understood the meaning of being truly alone. He learned that being alone and being lonely were two very different things.

On his deathbed, Jack had assured him that he still had a purpose in this life, but for the life of him, he didn't know what that was. He didn't want to doubt the boy, but he wondered if Jack only said it to make him feel better. Cas didn't feel like he had anything anymore, no reason to keep going.

He gave up hunting. He couldn't bear to do it without them. He never stepped foot into the bunker again, either. He couldn't. That place held too many memories. It would be far too painful.

Instead, he spent his time replaying and replaying the events of that night, wishing he could change things. He knew it wasn't helping, that it was an unhealthy habit, but he couldn't help it. It was the single most worst thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life, and he was a celestial being.

He kept to himself, even turning off angel radio. He didn't want to be bothered with the problems of others. He had his own. Much like Metatron, he hid himself away from the world.

He knew that his pain and grief would keep the Empty from claiming him and he should be grateful, but there were times when he wished it would come and swallow him up, to save him from this agony. But, he supposed, that was the point. The Empty wanted him to suffer, and he was.

Eventually, Cas decided that he needed to do something. A couple decades after the incident, he began going out and helping others. He'd find those who were on their deathbeds and ease the transition for them. He'd take their pain away. Could he have healed them? Sure, but he knew that that wasn't his place. He targeted people whose number was up and helped them pass painlessly. It was the least he could do after failing his friends. No one else should have to suffer like they had.

Years passed. There were those out there who knew what he did and spread rumors. He became known as the Angel of Death. They most likely didn't know that he was an actual angel, so it was ironic, but fitting. He didn't care.

Some worshipped him. Others hunted him, not really sure if his intentions were as good as people claimed. Some thought he actually killed people instead of helping them.

The Winchesters' name had become a sort of legend among hunters. Some believed they were actual people once, but others believed they were just tall tales. Either way, many knew their name.

No one knew at the time, but before his death, Sam had been working on an online database for hunters to keep track of their information. It was a way for them to communicate, a way for them to post their journals online for everyone to take note. He had hoped that it would help save people. And it did.

After a month of Sam's neglect on the program, the site had a built in command to go public, in the case of his death. Only hunters could access it, having to answer a series of questions only a true hunter would know in order to get on.

When hunters found it, they spread the word, connecting hunters from around the world and sharing the knowledge they'd learned on the job. Some hunters spent their time mostly organizing the info gained, almost becoming modern-day Men of Letters, in a sense.

The site made hunting much quicker and simpler. Many hunters gained longer lifespans because of it.

When Cas found out, he was proud of Sam, but not at all surprised. That was just who Sam was, always using his abilities to help others and save lives. Even in death, he saved people.

He logged on himself once, and searched the creature that had claimed the lives of those he loved. There was only one entry, made by Sam himself a couple years before he died. It was vague, but it was unmistakably the same creature that they met face to face. Of course Sam would've heard of it.

He wondered if Sam thought about that before his life ended, thought about the fact that he had found this ancient creature thought to be extinct. He didn't doubt it, even though he, himself, had never even heard of it, even in all his many years.

Cas took the time to add what he knew of the creature onto the page, how a Nephilim could kill them. Maybe the information could help someone someday. He shrugged.

Castiel found himself squatting in an old cabin in the woods one night. It was out of season for camping, so he figured no one would need it for a while. He had just helped another soul cross over, so he felt at peace. Not quite content or happy, but close enough.

He grabbed some logs and placed them in the fireplace. He was reaching for the matches when he heard a noise. He halted and turned around. His skills as a hunter had gone rusty and he no longer had any care for self-preservation, so he was unperturbed when he came face to face with a man holding a gun pointed to his chest.

The man stared him down, daring him to try something, to at least beg for his life, but Cas just stood there, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

"You just gonna stand there?" the man said gruffly. He wore jeans and a button up, not dissimilar to what Sam and Dean used to wear. He was clean shaven with messy dark blonde hair. He was middle aged and had a stocky build. In addition to the gun pointed at him, he also carried a knife at his waist. Cas guessed this man was a hunter.

Cas just shrugged. "What would you like for me to do?"

The man narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't get smart with me. I'm the one with the gun."

"So I've noticed. Are you here for a chat or can I go ahead and make a fire? It's a bit chilly in here," he said conversationally, taking a glance around while rubbing his hands together.

The man just stood there for a second. "So that's it? You're not gonna put up a fight? The great Angel of Death is just going to lay down and take it? I expected more."

Cas sighed. "Would I be right in assuming I 'hurt' someone you loved? I was wondering how long it would take for someone to catch up with me," he said wearily.

The man's face grew angry and red. "You took her from me!" he yelled. "You took my little sister! Why? She never did anything to anyone," he said more softly.

Cas took a moment to answer, thinking back. "When was this, if I may ask?"

"Six years ago you killed her. We were in an accident. A deer ran out in front of us. It was dark and raining and I tried to get away…hit a tree. It took me a few minutes to come to, but when I did…I saw a figure bent over her. There was a light and by the time I got out of the car, they were gone and she…." He paused and sniffed. "That was you and you killed her! You took her life away. She was engaged. Had her whole life ahead of her and you robbed her of it!"

Cas remained silent, let the man get his anger out. After a while of silence, he spoke. "Yes. I remember her. She was a beautiful spirit. Such a short life, but she had a good one. She—"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP RIGHT NOW! Don't talk about her like you knew her!" he screamed, the gun in his hands shaking.

"But I do know her, just as I know you. Her death destroyed you. You blamed yourself. But more so, you blamed me. You heard about the Angel of Death online and eventually became a hunter. You devoted your life to finding me and getting revenge. Is that about right?" he said calmly.

"Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"It really doesn't matter. If you want to kill me, go ahead," he said simply.

"What?! No. I want to know why you did it! What was she to you?"

"She was suffering. I only meant to take her pain away. It was her time. It wasn't my place to restore her when she was destined to move on. Is that satisfactory?"

"You were trying to help her? Why should I believe you?"

Cas shrugged. "Believe me. Don't believe me. I don't care. I simply made it my mission to save people from suffering. I didn't want others to feel what my friends did. I failed them. The least I can do is help others."

The man just stared at him. "Friends? What friends could a creature like you possibly have?"

"I'm not a creature. I'm an angel of the Lord. And my friends died many years ago. They were hunters like yourself. They were the very best. Saved the world a few times," he said proudly.

"What kind of bull is that? No one saves the _world_. Except in those stories everyone likes to tell. You know, those made up stories about those brothers. The Winchesters. Sa–"

"Yeah, Sam and Dean," Cas interrupted, a fond look on his face. "My friends. My family. It's been too long."

The man laughed. "You mean to tell me that they're real? Man, you're crazy. Next you'll probably tell me that your name is Casteel."

"It's Castiel, actually. No one's called me that in a long time."

The man's smile fell. "You're not saying those stories are actually real…like they happened for real…" he trailed off.

"Oh, yes. They were very real."

"Like," he stopped to think, "Sam jumping into the pit or Dean taking the Mark of Cain?" he said, nearly laughing.

"Yes. Poor Sam was soulless for a while after that. And that Mark was nothing but trouble. But we finally got it off. It was actually the beginning to repairing God's relationship with his sister. It worked out quite nicely."

The guy sputtered. "God, like _God_ God? And his sister?"

"Yes. He has a beard. His name is Chuck. Nice guy," Cas stated.

"Man, you must be losing it. That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"If I'm losing it, then how did I know all that about you and your sister?"

"Maybe you can read my mind or something."

Cas paused, thinking. "Well, I could, but that would be quite painful. I'm a celestial being. I just know things about people."

"If you're so important, why don't you smite me, then?"

Cas shook his head. "I have no reason to want to hurt you. You are grieving. I understand that all too well. I have been grieving for 172 years. Besides, your gun wouldn't hurt me. You cannot kill me. And if you tried, I wouldn't stop you. I have nothing to live for anymore," he said seriously.

"You don't want to help people anymore?"

"I'm tired, Ethan," he said, then hesitated. "Is it alright if I call you that? I know you didn't formerly introduce yourself."

"Look, man, this is weird. I don't know what to think."

"Then don't," he said, sliding an angel blade from his coat sleeve. He handed it to Ethan. "This will do the job."

Ethan set down his gun and took it, looking it over in confusion.

"It's an angel blade. It will kill angels. And demons, too. It's very useful. It's all yours, just please give me this mercy."

"Wait, you _want_ me to kill you?" he said incredulously.

"Yes. I have wished for death for such a long time. Spending an eternity in the Empty will be preferable to this existence, I think."

"Yeah, but…what about…"

"Didn't you come here to kill me? Wasn't that your mission, your purpose in life since your sister's death? Then kill me, please!" Cas nearly shouted.

"But this isn't what I'd expected. This isn't—"

Cas reached out and grabbed the man's shirt collar in a strong grip. "I killed your sister. Avenge her!"

The man pulled back, wrenching off Cas's grip. "But, but you didn't, you…"

"PLEASE!" Cas said emphatically. "I have tried so hard to keep going. Maybe helping people like your sister was my purpose like Jack said, but I can't do it anymore! I'm done! I need to move on. The pain doesn't ever go away. I can't stop replaying that night. I need peace. I need for it all to be over. Help me like I helped your sister, Melanie. Like I've helped so many others. Put me out of my misery. Don't tempt me with death and not give it to me. Please," he begged.

Ethan stood there, clenching the angel blade in his hands while he looked over at Castiel. He noticed for the first time how haggard he looked, how pain seemed etched into his very bones. Whether he really was who he said he was, this was a man who had been through a lot. This was someone who had reached his limit and then some.

He was right; he did come here to kill this man. Even if this stranger was trying to be good and helped Melanie, he was asking for mercy now. It didn't feel right. It felt less like revenge and more like killing someone who didn't deserve it, but yet was begging for it.

He felt something deep down, something he'd never felt before. He didn't think that he'd be able to just walk away, knowing he'd allowed this man to continue suffering. His pain may not be something he could see, but this man was broken. He told himself it'd be like killing a deer that got hit by a car. Sometimes it can't be saved, but it shouldn't have to suffer any more.

"Okay," he said quietly, getting a good grip on the strange weapon he'd been handed.

He saw the angel's shoulders relax as if a heavy burden had been lifted from them. He looked lighter, freer.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

The man just nodded, unable to form words. He stared at the angel, unsure. Cas nodded back at him, silently telling him to go on. He got closer, held it to the angel's chest. Closing his eyes, he thrust it through his chest. The angel fell, the blade falling from his hands and clattering to the floor.

He looked down and saw Castiel, dead, the shadow of his wings spread out majestically on either side of him. He would have regretted what he'd just done if he hadn't glanced at the angel's face. Although his eyes were hollowed out, there was a trace of a smile lingering on his lips.

* * *

Castiel found himself standing on a black surface. He shuddered to think of an eternity stuck in the Empty, such a dark place, but he didn't care. It was better than being on earth and being reminded of those he'd loved and lost.

He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Surrounding him was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. This was surely not the Empty. This was something wonderful. All around him were trees and grass, all so green and lush and beautiful. Flowers of every color were scattered around the tall grass, and the sky above was the bluest blue he'd ever laid eyes on.

Stretching in front and behind him was an asphalt road. He didn't know where it led, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to find out. Stepping forward, he followed it, taking in the sights and sounds all around. The wind blew gently and the birds sung from the treetops.

He didn't know how long he walked. It seemed long, but it wasn't unpleasant. Eventually, he came upon an old, two story home. It had a nice wrap around porch with a swing, and each window had shutters on either side. These details were great, but they weren't what took his attention. Sitting in the driveway was a pristine, black, 1967 Chevy Impala. Baby.

Cas ran to the front door, his blue tie flopping over his shoulder. He pounded the door and rang the bell, feeling completely overwhelmed and impatient.

The door swung open, revealing Dean standing there, a beer in one hand as the other gripped the door.

"Hey, look who decided to show up!" he said, beaming.

Sam approached, and his face lit up when he saw who it was. "Cas! You made it! You're just in time, too. We were just about to get started and everyone else is already here. Just waiting on you, man," he said, reaching out to engulf the angel into a hug.

When they finally pulled apart, Dean reached out for a hug as well.

"I don't…I don't understand," he said when they parted. He stepped into the foyer and Dean closed the door behind him. "Am I dead? Where am I? Is this a dream? Wait, no. I don't sleep, do I?" he rambled.

Dean laughed. "No, you don't, man. And yeah, you kicked the bucket. You're in heaven."

Cas looked at him in confusion. "But, angels go—"

"To the Empty, I know," Dean finished. "Chuck pulled some strings. You get your own slice of heaven pie!" he said with a grin.

"This is our heaven, me and Dean's," Sam explained, "but ours are all connected. I'm sure you have a house down the road. Everyone else does."

"Everyone else? But…you seemed to be expecting me? You knew I'd come?" he questioned.

"Nah, just a hunch. It just felt right. Kinda how this place works or something," Dean said. "Anyway," he said, rubbing his hands together, "how 'bout some grub? I'm starving!"

Dean led the way to the backyard. There was an insanely long picnic table set up with all kinds of food anyone could imagine. It was mostly barbeque, but with lots of sides as well, along with some fresh lemonade. There was a general bustle as those seated around the table served themselves and passed platters of food down the row. Cas realized that everyone was here: Mary, John, Bobby, Charlie, Kelly… everyone who'd ever made an impact on the Winchester's lives.

He saw Jody and Donna chatting away and Kevin helping himself to some fried rice, among others.

"Cas!"

Cas turned toward the voice. "Jack?!"

Jack ran over and gave him a big hug.

"It's been a while, Castiel. You took a while to get here," Jack said.

"Well, it wasn't really up to me, was it? Besides, I'm here now, and that's all that matters," Cas answered. Jack nodded with a big smile.

"Felix is here, too!" Jack said happily, indicating the red and black snake he had draped over his shoulders. Cas heard Dean mumble something about snakes and heaven before walking away toward the food. "He's much happier here, like I'd hoped he'd be," Jack continued.

"Yes, he does appear quite content," Cas replied.

"Well, come on, Cas. Dig in," Sam said before joining his brother at the table.

Castiel took a moment to take it all in. All his friends and loved ones were here in one place. This really and truly was heaven. Cas took his seat beside the Winchesters and dished himself up some food, more than happy to savor his slice of the heaven pie he was blessed to share with those he called his family.

* * *

Thanks for reading! PLEASE leave reviews and tell me your thoughts!


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